


Flip the Switch (and watch them run)

by Talinor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Mythology and Religion, Dreams, First Meeting, God Keith AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13772796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talinor/pseuds/Talinor
Summary: "Such is an advantage of the Mark- if you can master it, a great amount of power will be available at your fingertips." He shot Lotor a knowing look. "Such as the power to break out of a Galran prison ship onto the planet it's docked at. Just as an example, of course." His surroundings paled and dimmed once more. "An example..." In a split second flow of shadow, Marmora stood right in front of him with both hands offered to him. The Mark of Marmora glowed bright upon his shadow hand. "And an offer. One that can be refused," he gestured with his bloody red hand. "But an offer nonetheless."





	Flip the Switch (and watch them run)

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty much inspired by Dishonored  
> I've been thinking about it forever but I finally decided to write it as a birthday (feb 3rd) present to myself  
> title's from Emperor's New Groove by Panic! At the Disco  
> enjoy!

The former Prince of the Galra Empire bit his bottom lip as the shock raced through his flesh, forcing down his hiss of pain. He lost track of how many times he'd felt the sensation already in his past few weeks in prison. Not nearly enough to make him acquainted with it. Each one laced his veins, stinging just as much as the one before it had. Some even hurt a bit more.

His first few days, he'd screamed at each one until his throat was edged with a raspy burn. Involuntary tears streaked his cheeks. His breaths got ragged from the pain. Before then, he'd never experienced quite that much at once.

But now he stayed silent. He refused to give the Spymaster- or one of the witch's students watching him silently in the corner of the room- the satisfaction.

The Spymaster's boots moved into his line of sight pointed at the stained stone floors. The metal shone like it was recently polished, standing just a few inches from a week-old stain. The lever behind Lotor's machine creaked, and the pain stopped. His clenched fists loosened in their tight magic shackles.

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to the Spymaster's age-weathered face. A face he never truly trusted as a child, disdainful glances snuck in his direction when he thought Lotor wasn't looking were scattered throughout his memory. But now it was different.

Now it was more direct and more... openly hateful. Like he had to look at the scum of the earth openly vilified by the Ultimate Tyrant of the Universe. All for not accepting him as the God he claimed himself to be, and surrounding himself with others who knew the same. Typical Father.

"Now, Lotor," the Spymaster purred. "You know this will go much faster if you just confessed." Their brows furrowed, expression hardening. "But I must admit you are beginning to test my patience. So I will ask you once again," they grabbed Lotor's ragged collar, pulling the torture-weakened form closer. Just inches away from their face. Their voice was like a knife- calm, even, yet deadly and sharp. _"Where are your little friends hiding?"_

Lotor couldn't help but crack a weak, but still confident grin. He wasn't intimidated in the slightest. The Spymaster could parade around- hurt Lotor until he stood squarely at Death's door- all they wanted. They still wouldn't get a bit of information out of him. He would face his death gladly.

"Well," Lotor said, his voice still weak from unrecoverable abuse. "If I have been coasting upon your generously given patience thus far, I'd hate to see how I'd be treated if it runs out." He faked mulling his options over before looking them cold in the eyes. "However, I think I shall take my chances." He paused a moment. "But I do have something. Information I'm willing to give to you," he glanced to the Druid in the corner. "and you alone. Come closer, and I shall tell you what to bring back to Head Priestess Haggar."

He saw interest spark in their eyes at the prospect. It was reasonably cautious, which he could not blame, but it promised progress. That was the intention Lotor wished. It was a gamble, one Lotor desperately hoped would pay off.

With wary slowness, the Spymaster did such. Lotor awaited their arrival to the optimal positioning with bated breath. He licked at his chapped and cracking lips at the anticipation. Part of him braced for the pain he knew would be coming soon after this little stunt. It was going to sting, probably add a few more scars to his marred frame, but he cared not. Everyone was allowed their moments of defiance in the midst of unfairness.

Finally, the Spymaster was close enough to touch. His ears peeked out from where they were usually folded in interest. Good. Lotor leaned in as close as he could, lips brushing against the leathery skin of the closest ear and whispered, "You can tell the High Priestess and Divine Lord that I will gladly die before I denounce the true Creators, _basra."_

He spat the dirty Galran insult out with all the indignation he could muster, and swiftly bit the Spymaster's ear. He made sure to pierce the thick skin with his still-sharp fangs in the small window of time he was allowed. The bitter taste- the metallic trace of the Spymaster's blood- on Lotor's tongue was the sweetest nectar of petty vengeance he could have possibly asked for.

The Spymaster quickly recoiled and cursed as if they'd been burned, holding their ear where Lotor had bitten into it. "Sih-taran bastard!" They said, the hateful fire in their gaze roaring into a funeral pyre as they gazed upon him. "You'll pay for that little stunt!" They whirled their head around to glance at the Druid. "Get him back to his cell. Turn the intensity of the lights in there up to 75. Deprive him of another oxygen level in the environmental controls and put him under while I consult with the High Priestess."

The Spymaster spared him one last look as the Druid set to work on their commands. "You may resist all you wish," they said. "But everyone has a breaking point, my dear boy. It's only a matter of finding and pressing upon yours." Both of them watched as the needle made its way to the much-abused injection point. "But when I do? You will beg for forgiveness for your blind and rash actions."

Lotor didn't have a chance to respond. Even if he did, he wouldn't have taken it. All he really needed was the self-assured smile he wore as a pinch of ice climbed into his veins and quickly plunged his mind into dreamless darkness.

At least, they were usually dreamless. This darkness was... different. A pale, synthetic copy of what he usually experienced. The fact that he could sense such was the only indication he needed to know that he was indeed in some dreamlike state. It was a strange sort of suspension, both to feel held in place and to not feel at all. It was a bit uncomfortable, but he got used to it as quickly as he could.

A presence appeared to ripple through his mind like a fish speeding just under the water's surface. Or perhaps it was always there, and he'd just noticed. Either way, he knew for certain he was not alone in this strange place.

 _You are perceptive,_ a rough, yet strangely refined voice rumbled through his subconscious. Along with the lingering fiery thirst for revenge in the back of his throat, as if it was sore. _And quickly adaptive._ The voice hummed, vibrating his very core with the slightest sound. _Good. You shall need those traits soon enough._

"Where am I?" He finally found the voice to ask. "Who, or what, am I speaking to?"

Amusement washed over him like the pleasant warmth of a much-needed shower. _Good questions to ask,_ the voice said, radiating with the emotion. _But you need not use actual words. They are meaningless here. Not to mention they may tip you off to your dear jailers. Thoughts will suffice- this is somewhat your mind, after all._

He couldn't help but notice, to his utter annoyance, that the voice did not answer his questions. And... 'somewhat his mind'? What in the name of Marmora did that mean?

Another wave washed over him. _In due time,_ the voice told him. _Though that is a much too precious commodity to waste. It will take too long to fully lead into this, so I may as well just show you instead._

The void behind his eyelids suddenly shifted. Before his very consciousness, the darkness all around him seemed to pour and harden into shape. Craggy and uneven obsidian formed solid ground beneath his feet. It spread out a few more feet before it seemed to be satisfied with its formation, leaving him standing on a smooth black circle.

All around him, he could see little craggy islands very much like his own. The void around them shifted, lit up their shade to an ashy dark grey. In the distance, he could see strange shadow-shapes form. They'd float about for a little while, in the character of whatever creature they turned into, then dissipate like nothing had ever happened in the same dreamlike haze that surrounded everything else.

He watched with guarded curiosity as two silhouettes appeared on either side of him. The one on his left was a large and muscular-looking lioness made of shadow, the wisps of it constantly shifting in place, with great smoke-white wings adorned upon its back. The wings were new, but it seemed to be regular for this... place. Wherever his mind currently found himself.

The other, though, was irregular. Even for this place.

For one, it looked solid. It wasn't made of shadow shifting in one solid spot, but rather dark red blood. He knew blood well enough to recognize it, even when it formed a small yet lithe lioness with piercing glowing yellow eyes. They stared at him with distrust, then looked over to their counterpart on the other side.

Both bowed their heads- almost to nod in mutual agreement- and started walking forward. He stayed and watched them for a moment before they both stopped to look over their shoulders at him. They were waiting for him. They wanted him to follow them to their unspoken destination.

 _Go on,_ the strange voice returned. It seemed to come from all around him. _They're my most trusted companions. Follow them. They'll lead you to me, and I don't have all day. And might I add- neither do you, dear Prince._

Lotor didn't really want to, but it appeared that he didn't really have a choice in the matter. His curiosity about this situation far outweighed his cautiousness. So he walked briskly to catch up with the lionesses and followed along at their sides.

It wasn't a long trip, but he still took the time to admire his otherworldly surroundings. It was a strange, yet wonderful place. In this ancient eldritch realm, it was hard to determine what would come next. Giant smooth creatures covered in thousands of tiny eyes floated about as easily as if the air was water. Smooth, nearly lifelike statues would move about and trade pedestals with other statues nearby. Twisted black spires of rock decorated only with a small glowing purple symbol occasionally lined his shared path.

He knew that symbol. It was the mark of Marmora, the Forbidden One. The Creator of the Void and Life itself. He was the least involved in creating, yet funnily enough the most active in mortal affairs of all of them to this day. In many of his childhood tales, followers of Marmora were seen as fanatics and cultists. A few would be cursed with his Mark, tainted and corrupted by their newfound manipulation of darkness or the forces of life. If he could take one thing he learned from his childhood, it would be this- Marmora was a Creator to be feared, not loved. Never trusted.

 _Ah,_ the voice spoke again. _So you know who I am. I don't know all of what you've heard of me, but I shall promise you this: nearly every legend is false. I shall explain more in person. You're almost there. Trust me._

Lotor had absolutely no reason to, and every reason not to. Yet he couldn't help but be assured by the simple comfort of knowing the Creators really existed. That one seemed to want to help him. He didn't trust Marmora fully, but he was willing to give all of this a shot. There was a feeling resonating deeply in his gut telling him to do so as he stepped onto narrow royal purple gild-lined carpet. He always trusted his gut instinct.

So he kept going.

In the distance, he saw Marmora sitting on a simple obsidian altar decorated with deep red curtains at the end of the carpet. He grew more detailed the closer Lotor got to admire him. The storybooks had always painted Marmora as an ugly, twisted abomination with eyes of brimstone and a smile of jagged and uneven teeth. He never had hair of any sort. It made sure nothing obstructed any horrible feature of his.

Looking at the real thing now, they weren't accurate in the slightest. Marmora was quite handsome, with a smooth face that seemed almost made of marble. Like a poor suffering artisan spent countless hours in perfecting his face. His eyes were pitch black, yet... warm at the same time. Inviting in an odd sort of way, like the visual version of sleep after a long and hard day. When he smiled at his companions as they sat at his side, Lotor found that his teeth were hardly sharper than Lotor's own. His long hair was the black of deep shade, tied into a messy ponytail by a bright red tie.

He wore rather simple clothing- a white undershirt with long and puffy sleeves that tied off at the wrist and black skintight jeans with a holstered brown belt that held a blade. His shoes were dark red and lined with stark black. Overall, Marmora just looked like a handsome but otherwise unassuming man.

Until you noticed his hands. The left one, petting at the black lioness, seemed to be the same way as she. Shadows swirling and shifting in the shape of a hand with elegant but very sharp-looking claws. The same went for the opposite hand petting its own counterpart- the blood lioness. It left a sanguine drop on the floor occasionally.

"Ah, Prince Lotor," Marmora actually spoke now, his voice only barely underlined with divine power. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You're a rather smart man, so tell me," he tilted his head to the side with a slight sense of curiosity. "Why do you think I dragged your consciousness down to my realm?"

Lotor paused a moment. He didn't quite know what to answer. Did it really matter what he said?

Marmora nodded. "Oh, it _definitely_ does," he paused. The limited colors around them seemed to pale and fade. "And I would normally make you answer, but you will not be down for much longer." He stood, his pure black eyes studying Lotor's frame in consideration. "You know of my Mark, correct? What it can do?"

Lotor nodded quickly. His mind couldn't help but think of the many cautionary tales involved with it.

"You believe that it's a curse," he hummed. "A punishment I force onto an unlucky few. Many mortals do, mainly because the only ones who speak out from experience about my Mark know they will never master their own, and they turn their anger towards me."

With that newfound information, Lotor's mind wandered and wondered. If the only people who spoke about the Mark of Marmora were ones who were bad with it, then what happened to the ones who were good with theirs?

Marmora smiled. "They're never found," he said matter of factly. "Not unless they wish to be. Such is an advantage of the Mark- if you can master it, a great amount of power will be available at your fingertips." He shot Lotor a knowing look. "Such as the power to break out of a Galran prison ship onto the planet it's docked at. Just as an example, of course." His surroundings paled and dimmed once more. "An example..." In a split second flow of shadow, Marmora stood right in front of him with both hands offered to him. The Mark of Marmora glowed bright upon his shadow hand. "And an offer. One that can be refused," he gestured with his bloody red hand. "But an offer nonetheless."

For a moment, Lotor was stunned. He had no idea how to respond to such an offer. The only clear question he could seem to come up with was- "Why?"

"Because this is what my Mark truly is," Marmora explained. "An offering. A gift, even. Whether it is a blessing or a curse upon you is determined by your own actions. It's simply meant to make things more... interesting. Possibly even more fair, given your current position." Another paling. Everything was nearly gray now, save for the vibrancy of Marmora's form. "Usually you'd have more time to decide, but I'm afraid I can't keep you much longer without damaging repercussions. So pick a hand- blood for no, shadow for yes. Don't tally, dear Prince."

It was hardly a decision, in Lotor's eyes. He needed every advantage he could get against his tyrannical father. If that meant delving into some sort of heretical blasphemy, then so be it. He could live with that.

Lotor grasped the surprisingly warm hand of shadow. Pins and needles ran throughout his entire arm, centered around the hand. A dull but growing burn started at the middle as the pure magic of the Mark connected and interfaced with his flesh. He saw Marmora smile as everything around him started to fade and ebb away.

"Good luck, Lotor," he said. "Know I shall be watching your progress closely, and that we will meet again." His eyes gleamed with soft mirth like a glimmering night sky. "I look forward to seeing your path of life play out." The last sight he got before fading out of Marmora's realm was his face, calm yet excited. He meant those words.

When Lotor awoke, it was with a rush of power. One that was overwhelming at first, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. Anyone who tried stopping him after he ripped his sealed cell door off the wall with giant vigorous arms of shadow energy like extensions of his own was sure to regret it.

He would make sure of that.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated! I love getting feedback from you guys!  
> my tumblr: squishy--squish


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